Disclaimer: I do no own Percy Weasley. But after OotP, I'm assuming he's up for grabs! XD
AN: This is me killing three birds with one stone. One, I'm getting over this writer's block that has plagued me for months. Two, I'm finally writing that Percy-sympathizer fic that I've been promising myself since book five came out… and that was a year ago- sheesh!
And three, this is my own personal way of dealing with a disorder that I've had since the age of six: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD. Like I said, I've had it since first grade, but only in this past year has it truly begun to hinder my life. Now, it's not like I'm going to abandon my family and become a snotty, anal assistant to some guy who can't remember my name. But I've seen almost every other 'real world' disorder discussed in HP fandom. And I figured if anyone in this realm would have it, Percy would (or Hermione, I guess). BTW, this is his fifth year, so book one, or right before it.
One last AN then I'll finally get to writing, and you to reading. I am in no way an expert in dealing with OCD (obviously, lol- my therapy is to impose it onto fanfiction characters!) but I do know a little about what it is exactly, after living with it for the better part of my life. If you want to e-mail me with any questions or concerns, my address is on my bio page.
Okay. Now I'm going to write this thing.
This Logical Chaos
Turn off the lights. Turn them back on. Check the room. For what, he doesn't know. Anything unusual. But everything's fine.
Turn the lights back off again, and lie down.
And try to sleep.
But Percy Weasley cannot sleep. He tosses and turns until the stained, patched sheets are thrown off the side of his bed completely. He gets out of bed and turns the lights on again. Looks at his hands. He feels blood on them, dirt on them.
They're completely clean.
Percy knows that, logically, because he washes them thirty times a day. But he still feels the blood dripping off them.
He wants to scream. He wants to cry. And all the wanting is making him so empty that it hurts to breathe. There are no tears left. He has no voice left.
He forces himself to lie down again. Runs his hands through his short, smooth hair to make sure it's normal. It's normal. There's nothing there that shouldn't be.
It hurts. It hurts to feel so much. The shield of numbness he's erected around his mind is worse than the emotions themselves.
Percy lets out a short, strangled cry, which no one hears. There's something on his hands. There's dirt on his hands.
Your hands are clean, another, smaller voice argues.
Voices. Talking. In his head.
Percy Weasley thinks he's going insane. Maybe he's there already.
Nobody understands. Nobody understands the Things that could happen if he doesn't do this. He's the only one who sees the Bad Things. He's the only one who can save them all from Them.
They all laugh. Crazy Percy, there he goes again. Studying. Lecturing. Looking at his hands.
They don't know what the Bad Things could do…
Neither does Percy. But he knows he has to stop them.
He's sane, right? He has to be. He knows, in his mind, that none of these Things are real. And yet he feels them everywhere else. In his fingers. In his hands.
Maybe he had gone mad.
Percy gives in, gets up, and turns on the lights again. His Prefect badge glitters at him from its place on his immaculate desk. And he wonders if there's a God.
His hands are clean. For now. He wants to get to the bathroom and wash them again, but his parents might wake up and see him doing it. And for now he's managed to convince them that he's okay.
He's not okay. And he knows it.
Percy understands that he's different. Different from Charlie, from Bill, from Oliver. From everyone. He understands that he sees too much.
It feels like his mind will explode.
Yet there's nothing really wrong with him. He has his grades. He still has them. So everything's okay, right? There's logic to this mayhem. There's order to this chaos. And he'll find it.
He'll be okay. He's not insane.
Percy Weasley is just. Fine.
What a lie.
Turn off the lights. Go to sleep.
Try not to dream.
Wake up. Do it all again tomorrow.
Sheesh, I made him sound more schizophrenic than anything else! Even I'm not that bad. It started off pretty much autobiographical but got a little out of hand there at the end. But honestly I don't really know what it's like to have severe OCD; I have a 'moderate' case.
And yeah I know I never directly mentioned OCD, so I guess you could interpret that as you like. The logical answer: why would Wizards know it by its Muggle name? My answer is that I couldn't work it into the flow… ;D
Anyways please tell me what you thought. There's a lot of me in this and I'd really like some opinions.